The Last Student: Directors Cuts
by MyMelancholyBaby
Summary: A series of one shots between John Winchester and an OFC. Rated M for some mild kink.
1. The Mall

**Ok kids, **

**These are a series of "one shots" that revolve around Paige and her relationship with John.**

**So, if you just stumbled upon this and have never even heard of my other story, then, please, go and read "The Last Student." This is sort of a companion to my original fan fic. Like the dumping ground of all the scenes and smut I couldn't justify putting in my other story. You're free to continue, but you might wonder who the hell Paige is. **

**So, this takes place between chapters 5 and 6 of my other fic. Basically John and Paige are sexually active and enjoying said status. I wanted an opportunity to explore a fascinating relationship dynamic that I didn't really have the time to do fully in my other fic. Basically they come as they occur to me. Some are sweet, some are kinky kinky sex. There is no real order to them. **

**Enjoy! (And please leave reviews!)**

**Obviously, I do not own the rights to any characters besides Paige.**

**P.S. So, this is the show as much as me, but in this fic, I mention that John Winchester fought in the Vietnam War (which is canon) but the delectable actor, Jeffery Dean Morgan, who plays John was born in 1966. CLEARLY, the Vietnam war was fought in the 1950s to the 1975 so the cast actor was WAY too young to have fought (or even really remember) the Vietnam War. Anyways, I mention in passing that John Winchester is "forty something." The math is not my friend on that one. But, I really want JDM naked in my bed, so for the intents of this story John Winchester is forty, which JDM would be in 2006 (the first season.) Maybe John Winchester had a time machine or something. **

* * *

Paige sat alone at a table in the crowded mall food court.

She poked listlessly at her salad. Too much dressing, she decided.

She looked around her again, growing impatient. Not worried. Yet.

She smiled as she saw John walking towards her, the most uncomfortable expression imaginable on his face. The gruff, tee shirt and flannel wearing man could not have looked more out of place in the mall if he tried.

He dropped himself into the seat across from her.

"You OK?" asked Paige. He was acting twitchy and nervous.

"Yeah," he said, though the way his eyes darted around the food court told a different story. "It's a crowd thing. I hate them."

"Is that a hunter thing?" she asked, wondering if she should be more on guard.

"No, it's a war thing." John answered distractedly, still looking around the room instead of at her.

John a glanced at her, and then seemed to check what he said. He had never talked to Paige about his life before hunting, and especially not about his time in Vietnam.

"Don't worry about it," he said with a smile, "Let's just go."

Paige's wardrobe was pathetically inadequate, so John had stopped at the mall on the way back from the hunt, so that Paige could get more clothes for her undercover gigs.

The two had split up, John had said that he wanted to get the hell out of there as fast as possible. Though, Paige had a suspicion that it was also in large part because when people saw them together, they saw a father and a daughter.

And the way she woke him up that morning, by licking and sucking at his semi hard morning wood, made the assumption of that relationship less than comfortable for all parties involved.

As they stood, John looked warily at Paige's bags.

"Please tell me that you got everything you need."

"Yeah, skirts, dresses, a suit, some shoes etc. Everything you told me."

John looked at the tiny pink bag tucked away between the others. Raising his eyebrows he surreptitiously moved the hot pink tissue paper popping out of the top aside. Seeing the lacy thongs and bras, a quiet hungry growl escaped his throat.

Lowering his voice, he asked, "Did you get only what you needed?"

Paige blushed and looked coyly down at the bag in her hand, pulling it away from him.

"Panty lines are a real issue." she insisted, though pleased with the starving look in his eyes. "Maybe you'd like me to put them on, so I can show you."

They were speaking in low voices, hyper aware of the crowd around them. John had always insisted on keeping a low profile, and if John acted on the desire that was clearly portrayed in his face, they would gain a wealth of attention.

A forty something man with a twenty something girlfriend usually caused a bit of a stir, no matter where they went. Uncomfortable as it was, allowing people to make their own assumptions about the relationship was simply more convenient.

He shot her a look, warning her to stop her teasing.

She complied, and they walked out of the mall, minding to keep a respectful distance between them. As they walked, Paige saw that he had stopped at a chain bookstore. She racked her brain for what he could need to get from there. She doubted that the mega book store had a wide selection on the occult.

He saw her looking and handed the bag to her, his eyes returning to their paranoid flitting.

She opened it and saw a small black book. As she flipped through the pages, she saw that it was blank. She looked questioningly at him.

"Well, you're going to need one. To keep notes in," he said, still not giving her his full attention.

"Oh, it doesn't look like yours." She said, a little disappointed.

"Well, yeah," said John, furrowing his brow a bit as he explained it to her. "Mine is leather."

Paige continued to look at him, puzzled.

"What kind of vegetarian walks around with a leather journal?"

Paige reached out and grabbed his hand, pulling him to a stop. He had a second to give her a bewildered look before she cupped her hand around his neck and stood on her toes to kiss him.

His body stayed tense as she pushed her lips against him. A mixture of surprise and reluctance kept his hands at his sides.

However, he didn't pull away. His lips parted as Paige gently placed her hand on his chest. She flicked her tongue into his mouth and hoped that with that kiss she could somehow transmit the warm feeling he gave her back to him. She hoped that he could feel how grateful she was that he remembered, how much his tiny kind gesture meant to her.

John's returned her kiss with a small swirl of his own tongue in her mouth before they broke apart.

John looked up and quickly scanned the mall for anyone who saw. Besides a few gossipy middle-aged women sitting on a bench by a water fountain, no one seemed to pay them any mind.

John bent down again and kissed Paige on the lips quickly, to assure her that he wasn't angry at her sudden burst of affection. He then gently slid his fingers down her back and guided her out of the mall. The respectable distance between them whole-heartedly abandoned.


	2. The Coffee

Paige woke up in the motel room to the sound of water running in the bathroom and coffee being brewed.

Her knees were pleasantly sore from the night before as she walked across the room to the coffee pot.

Despite the fact that they'd had a truck and a motel room, Paige had led John to a far-too-sparse-for-real-privacy cluster of trees outside of the bar where they had stopped.

His eyes had grown wide with surprise as she wordlessly got to her knees and pulled him out of his pants, sucking him hard.

At first, he had been looking around to see how visible they were. But as no one came out of the bar or near the trees, he began to relax into it, rolling his head back as Paige worked him, her hands roaming his thighs and ass.

John slid a hand into Paige's hair as her mouth was over his member. Gently, at first, as if to see how much she was willing to take, he held her head in place as pushed himself further into her mouth.

Paige's eyes never left his face as she let him test her limits, wanting to give him everything he wanted or needed from her. Wanting to be able to do this for him.

She opened her throat as wide as she could and covered the distance of his member with her mouth. She held there for a moment, fighting her gag reflex, and then she swallowed around him, teasing his tip with constriction of her throat.

The animal gasp of pleasure that he elicited made the entire process worth it.

A car on the road near by pulled up to the bar. Paige watched John's face, but she kept working him, feeling a tingle of excitement as she heard voices coming from the car. John turned his head to look in the direction of the bar, but no one seemed to acknowledge that they saw anything.

Despite his look of apprehension at being caught, Paige felt him throb even harder in her mouth. Smirking around his member, she continued, faster, determined to bring him to his peak while the rush of almost being caught coursed through both of them. John was emboldened by the excitement and began to push into Paige's mouth at a rapid pace.

He held a nearby tree for support as he came. Paige beamed with satisfaction as his knees shook ever so slightly as he released.

Paige stood by the coffee pot and poured herself a cup. She grimaced as she took a sip. For whatever reason, John seemed to think that the recommended amount of coffee grounds per cup of water was an irrelevant guideline, often choosing to make the coffee strong to the point of toxic.

She glanced at the bathroom and saw that John had left the door open a crack. He was leaning over the sink, shaving.

Paige poured a second cup of what she could only describe as tar and brought it to him, placing it on the counter of the sink, perching herself against the mirror facing him. He gave her a quick smile before he tuned his attention back to his task. Paige sipped her cup, her taste buds acclimating to the assault. She leaned her head against the mirror and watched him in silence for a few minutes.

"Would it weird you out if I told you that I used to love watching my Dad shave?" she asked.

"Yes" said John, though he said it with a small smile and a teasing look in his eye.

Paige smiled back as she remembered.

"Sometimes I would wake up early and sit in his bathroom as he got ready for work. I loved the process. He would shave, and comb back his hair and sometimes he would even let me pick out his tie. I always picked the ones I got him for his birthday and Father's day. They always had cartoon characters on them" Paige took another sip and smiled vaguely to herself, "Sometimes I think that he let me pick out his tie just so that he had an excuse to wear them. You know, so if people asked about his Snoopy tie, he could say his daughter picked it out for him. Cute, not creepy, right?"

John was watching her through the reflection of the mirror.

"What did he do for a living?" he asked, rinsing his razor.

"Sold insurance. " said Paige with a shrug, "kind of boring. I guess he was kind of boring. But I never thought of it in a bad way. He would do the exact same thing every week, but it was comforting. Every Thursday we would go to the same restaurant for dinner, every Saturday he would watch cartoons with me, every Sunday he would watch the game." Paige fell back into silence again as she remembered how it ended. As she remembered his body, lying in blood on the hallway of his house.

Everyday and every night, he had followed an exact routine. For twenty years he had lived the same life in the same house. Then one night, it was different. One night everything changed and could never go back to the way it was.

John placed his hand over Paige's, and she realized that she had been silently staring into space for a few minutes. She wiped away the tears that she didn't realize she had cried and smiled back at him, reassuring him that she was OK.

Paige knew that John was not the comforting type. He was nothing like her father. While her father always knew exactly what to say to make her feel better, John was taciturn and cold. While her father was goofy and playful, John was somber and quiet. Where her father had been gentle, John was rough.

"What was your Dad like?" she asked him.

John heaved a deep sigh at the question. He looked at her again through the mirror, reluctantly. Paige refused to back down from her question.

"He drank a lot." Said John with a shrug. "He was a mechanic."

"Was he a nice guy?" she asked.

"He had his moments." John said, lifting his neck upwards as he shaved under his chin. As he finished shaving, he rubbed a towel over his clean-shaven face. "Most of the time, no, not particularly."

"I'm sorry." She said.

John shrugged.

"It was a different time. Fathers weren't supposed to be affectionate and sweet and understanding. They were men. Protectors. Providers. They taught their sons to be men like them. There wasn't a lot of room for tenderness there."

"Sounds like you're describing yourself." Paige said as she leaned against the mirror again, putting her empty coffee cup on the counter. John gave a humorless chuckle and a strained smile.

"And, you know, I always told myself that I didn't want to be like him. And… I was."

He looked quietly down at the towel in his hand and Paige felt bad for bringing it up. She reached forward and gently placed her lips against his. The kiss wasn't hungry, but merely closeness. She placed her head against his, wishing that she could do something to take away the regret that was so clearly heavy on his shoulders.

"You did what you had to do. We're all just doing what we have to do." she murmured. It was one of the moments when she wondered if John really heard her. When it came to personal reassurances, Paige sometimes felt like she was talking to a wall.

But, John let her be close. He didn't reach for her, and Paige figured that he would never ask her for that kind of affection. She could only hope he appreciated her closeness. She cold only hope that her touch and her kiss could tell him that she accepted him, that she didn't judge him. She couldn't think of anything else she had to offer him.

Their foreheads rested together and John's hands mindlessly roamed over Paige's legs. As his fingers skimmed her knees, his fingers traced the red welts from the ground the night before. He smiled at the memory and that seemed to break his dark train of thought.

He bent down and kissed her lips softly then stepped back and walked into the main room.

"Breakfast?" he called to her.


	3. The Ring

John was asleep beside her; his face nestled into the crook of his arm while his other hand lay on Paige's stomach.

Paige smiled to herself as she watched him sleep. She was vaguely reminded of a small bear. And like a bear, Paige was mindful not to wake him.

Paige enjoyed sex with him. Clear as day and sure as rain the man knew exactly what to do to get her hot and bothered and he relished in the knowledge.

But he was rarely this… close. Intimacy was not commonplace. But, in his sleep, he would gravitate towards her, always touching, if only lightly.

Paige looked down at the hand on her stomach, his fingers separated and relaxed against her. It was his left hand.

With a sense of curiosity, Paige ran her finger lightly over his wedding band. As she inspected it, she saw that it was engraved in tiny letters; too tiny for Paige to read in the dim motel lighting. She didn't have much time to dwell on the inscription as John shifted in his sleep, rolling onto his stomach and sliding his hand under his pillow. Under the blankets, he laid his leg against hers, maintaining their light contact.

* * *

The next morning, Paige awoke to the sound of the shower. John had left the bathroom door open, probably because the humidity in the air was so thick already.

Paige stood from the bed and stretched. As she walked by the bathroom to get the paper from the table, her eye caught something gold, glittering on the bathroom counter.

Fully aware that she was doing something John would never knowingly allow her to do, Paige crept towards the ring.

She lifted it from the counter and was mildly surprised at how cold and heavy it seemed in her hand. Knowing that she didn't have a great deal of time, Paige glanced at the shower curtain and flipped the ring over, looking for the inscription.

"_John + Mary 1974"_

Paige wasn't exactly sure what she had been expecting. It was an ordinary inscription on an ordinary wedding band.

Paige continued to run the ring through her fingers as she thought.

It had never occurred to her to be jealous of Mary. It was almost like Mary was a saint and a martyr. She had never seemed all that _real_ to Paige.

But as Paige felt the ring in her hands, the gravity of it's meaning weighed heavily on her. There had been a proposal, and a wedding, with flowers and a cake and an expensive dress. People had stood and talked about how John and Mary would be in love forever. They'd had kids. A whole world of love and promise was laid out in front of them and Paige was holding the only piece of it that John carried with him. Paige looked at the year again. 1974. She wasn't even born yet. She felt a little comfort in that before it occurred to her that most people wouldn't consider the fact that their boyfriends were married with children before they were even alive comforting.

But then, nothing in Paige's life was normal.

"Paige?" came John's voice from behind her. He stood, wet from the shower, with a towel around his waist.

Paige gave a panicked jump as she heard him, dropping the ring. She felt guilty, as if she had seen John naked or read his journal. Except she had already done both those things. That ring, that memory, was the last bit of privacy John had and Paige had just run her fingers all over it.

"Paige?" John said again, confused by her guilty reaction.

Paige dropped to her knees and started looking for the ring on the floor, under the table. She cast her mind around for some legitimate excuse.

"Paige, what are-" John asked a third time, but paused. Paige hazarded a glance over her shoulder and saw John's furrowed brow as he looked along the counter. He moved a washcloth and still not finding the ring, he looked over at the guilty Paige on her hands and knees.

"Where is…?" he asked, anger rising in his voice.

Paige snapped her head back to where she was looking under the bedside table. He had never said it aloud before. Neither acknowledged it between them. It was John's life, and John's secret. Paige respected that enough to let him have it.

John only had a handful of personal objects in his life. He had Truckzilla, he had his antique Winchester rifle and he had that wedding band.

She mentally kicked herself. What did it matter, really, what the ring said? She had never cared before, and it had worked for her. Stupid, selfish, stupid, stupid.

Paige was lifted to her feet as John grabbed her elbow. She kept her eyes on the ground, anywhere but at him. John gave her a rough shake, forcing her to look at him.

"Why?" he snapped.

"I don't know," Paige answered truthfully. "I was curious…"

"It's none of your damn business."

"I know. I know. I'm sorry." Tears were streaming down her face.

John dropped her arm and pushed her away from him. He went back into the bathroom and reemerged moments later, clothed. Without looking at Paige he marched out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

John stood for a moment before entering the room. Anger still coursed through him. Paige had clearly known that it would upset him, yet she went ahead and did it anyways. She didn't have to go behind his back. If she had asked, John would have told her.

That was a lie, John reminded himself.

He would have never told her. In fact, he probably would have gotten angry at Paige for prying.

There was John's life before Mary's death and his life after. Though there was a clear turning point between them, John liked to keep them separate. And talking to his 22 year old, whatever she was, about his dead wife was breaching that division in a big way. He was not going there.

He had been a shitty husband. He and Mary fought almost constantly. But she was his. To love and to hold until death do them part and all. He wasn't easy to get along with, but he never cheated. He was her only and she was his only and something took that away.

Taking a deep breath, John walked into the motel room.

It looked like a tornado had ripped through it. The sheets on the bed were stripped, and the furniture was in disarray. Paige sat, in the middle of it all with red swollen eyes.

John had calmed down as he took his walk around the motel, the naked spot on his hand heavy with the weight of the ring that was not there.

But as he saw her, sitting with the ring in her hand, outstretched towards him, he felt another wave of anger rise up. He felt violated as she held his most personal possession in her hands, like a thief.

She was looking at the ground and flinched ever so slightly as John roughly jerked the ring from her fingers and slammed it back onto his own.

Somehow, he had thought that he would feel better once the ring was on his finger.

He dropped down in the chair by the door, yanking off his boots and still refusing to look at her. He didn't want to see her tear stained eyes. He definitely didn't want to sit next to her on the bed, so they sat in silence.

After a few minutes, John saw Paige move out of the corner of his eyes, he was still deliberately ignoring her.

"I'm sorry." She whispered, her voice was raspy and desperate.

John looked at the ground.

"I'm sorry" she whispered again, this time dropping to her knees in front of him, putting herself directly in his line of vision.

"I'm sorry," she repeated, cautiously reaching out and touching his ankle.

When he didn't pull away, she scooted closer to him.

"I'm sorry," she said, like a chant. She repeated it over and over as she ran her hands up his legs. She was looking into his face as she groveled before him, apologizing again and again. As her hand slid over his chest, John caught sight of the red welt above her elbow. The red welt he had given her as he grabbed her.

For the first time, he hurt her, physically hurt her, and it wasn't to make her stronger as a hunter, and it wasn't a sex thing. He had grabbed her that way because he was angry. In the moment he had wanted to hurt her, and that scared him.

He broke at the sight of it.

He leaned his head forward to kiss her arm where the hand shaped mark blemished her skin. From there he kissed her on the lips.

He wasn't going to say that he forgave her, because he didn't. He wasn't going to apologize for hurting her because the words would get caught in his throat. He kissed her and pulled her up into the chair against him because he wanted the fight to be over. He wanted to seal it off and never speak of it again. It was too big for either of them to try and sort it out. Things had to go back to the way they were.

He moved the necessary clothes between them. He unzipped his pants and pushed her shorts to the side so that he could enter her quickly. It was not languid and loving or hot and passionate. It was a truce. An agreement to let the incident drop and never speak of it again.

* * *

**Ok, so this one was a little dark. But so was their relationship. John was a notoriously hard to get along with person, and if there is anything that we learned from the show, it is that the man likes his secrets and his privacy. **

**Also, it just occurred to me that I need to title my chapters. Since there is no real order, to have them listed chronologically doesn't make a great deal of sense. So, once I figure out how to do that, it will get done. I'm incredibly lazy though, so these chapter titles will not be as literate as my ones for Last Student. **


	4. The Mirror

Paige was straddling John's lap, her lips and tongue playing with his.

It wasn't heated as much as comfortable. John, in his post coitus bliss, would let Paige explore his body and mouth in ways that he usually wouldn't.

She had started to enjoy these moments as much as the actual sex. His tolerance for her intimacy was greater in his satiated and drowsy state.

However, Paige wasn't sure how much longer he was going to tolerate her languid kissing this particular time. His hands, which had initially started around her face and neck, were beginning to roam to her chest and thighs, growing firmer and more insistent, getting ready to go again.

Paige broke the kiss.

"I'm sorry John, I can't again." She slid off of his lap.

A new sheen of sweat was starting to coat her body. Despite the fan and the open window, the humidity and heat were making her uncomfortable. She was restless, yet lazy. Bored and yet tired.

"Tease," John joked, as he let her untangle herself from him.

"It is too fucking hot." She murmured, closing her eyes. "I feel like I'm in a Tennessee Williams story."

John didn't respond, but crinkled his brow enough to tell Paige that he didn't get the reference.

"Tennessee Williams?" asked Paige, rolling onto her side to face him, "_Kingdom of Earth_? _Glass Menagerie_? _Streetcar Named Desire_?"

"Oh, yeah. I never saw the movie."

"Ugh, you're hopeless," Paige said, dropping back onto her back, opening her body up to any whisper of a breeze provided by the fan in the old motel room.

"Well someone went to college." John said, smiling, scooting down so that he was laying next to her.

"A semester and a half." Paige said dryly. "Pretty impressive, I know."

"I never went." He said.

Paige shrugged.

"It doesn't matter, now, anyways." She said, "My B.A. in English probably wouldn't have helped me hunt and kill a demon."

John let out a low, rumbling laugh. Paige grinned as she looked up at him, she always felt victorious whenever she earned his rare chuckle.

"English? Like Charles Dickens and Shakespeare?"

"Yup."

John chuckled again.

"Sammy was pre-law. Stanford."

"Yeah, Bobby told me." Said Paige, sitting up. "He said you were pretty unhappy at the time. But, c'mon, you have to be a little proud. Kids kill themselves to get into a school like that. Kids with parents who pay for SAT classes and prep schools and stuff."

John sighed, clearly regretting bringing up the conversation topic.

"Bobby shouldn't be going around, telling people my business."

Paige rolled her eyes, but let the conversation drop. She climbed out of the bed to retrieve her underwear from the bathroom, where the whole scene had started.

Exhausted by the heat, Paige had gone into the bathroom and wetted a washcloth. She held the cool cloth to her face and neck, closing her eyes as she focused on the way the cold water ran down her skin.

The next thing she saw was John, with sex in his eyes, walking over to her, kicking off his pants as he went. He positioned himself behind her, his hands on her hips, running his palms possessively over her body. The heat had reduced Paige to only her underwear and a tank top, leaving little for John to slide off before he spread her legs and sheathed himself in her.

Paige let out a moan and leaned further forward over the sink. She put one of her hands forward on the mirror for support, as John's familiar rhythm grew rougher.

"For God's sake, open your eyes," John whispered coarsely into her ear.

Obediently, Paige did. What she saw spurred her to an entire new level of arousal.

The reflection of John and her fucking was ridiculously filthy and hot. She watched her own breasts bounce and slap back against her in time with John's thrusts.

She felt like a porn star as she watched as John's hand reached around her and cupped her breast, her nipple hard and puffy with excitement. Her eyes found John's in the mirror and she grinned wickedly at him.

He gripped her hips tightly as he finished, resting his forehead on her shoulder as he released inside her.

Without missing a beat, he turned Paige around. She let out a little giggle as she was lifted off of her feet and placed on the counter, but the sound was short lived, replaced with a whimper as John's practiced tongue and fingers went to work between her legs.

She looked at their reflection in the mirror again and bit her lip at the lewd image. John's head, bobbing as he ate her out, his hands gripping her ass. She hoped that she would never forget the sight.

After she felt her rush of her peak, John pulled her by her wrist back to the bed, mumbling something about being too old and sober to crash on bathroom floors.

* * *

John grinned in the dark as he watched Paige disappear into the bathroom on a hunt for her missing clothes.

The heat was making her irritable, and that amused him. Paige was usually pretty quiet; he was never sure what she was thinking. It never really bothered him much, since he was the same way, but he was tickled whenever Paige's dry sense of humor reared its head.

As she turned on the light in the bathroom, he saw her reflection in the mirror. His lower region gave a half-hearted tug as he remembered watching her face through the reflection, the lust and excitement that came from new experiences.

And while exposing her to the new, and often filthy, practices of sex gave him a sort of satisfaction that he was sure should earn him some jail time, he was also a little concerned.

A girl's first boyfriend, and John was cottoning on pretty quickly that that was the case, shouldn't come with fake names, stolen credit cards and sketchy motel rooms. Especially not a girl like Paige, who quite clearly, came from a good, affluent and educated family. John had barely made it out of high school.

John didn't want to talk about Sam because there was a whole lot of shit that came with that. Him and Sam never getting along. The betrayal he felt when Sam said that the lifestyle John had given him wasn't enough. The fact that his son was right in the eye of a demon that had big dark plans for him. But on a more immediate level, it was just weird.

He had done the math and instantly regretted it. She was eight months younger than Sam. If they had gone to school together, they would have been in the same grade. And Sam had been into the school thing. John had always written it off as Sam's own unique sort of teenage rebellion, but Sam had read Charles Dickens and Shakespeare and probably that Tennessee Williams guy. The quickest way to put up a wall between him and his father had been for Sam to pick up a book instead of a wrench. Sam had known that John couldn't talk to him about calculus or world history, so Sam had immersed himself in it. Dean had said that it was because Sam liked the structure that school provided, but then Dean had always had a knack for coming up with lies and excuses to buffer their tumultuous relationship.

And she had already been with Dean, another fact that John chose not to dwell on. He could even see a similarity between Dean's laid back personality and Paige's.

If John thought about it, both of his sons seemed to be more suitable matches for her than him. At least they were the same generation.

John's first love had been Mary, and it had been both of their firsts. They grew up together. They were supposed to grow old together. John had been there, done that, lost it and grown harder and colder from the experience.

As John watched Paige, now armed with her tank top and underwear climb back into their bed, he felt guilty as if he was robbing her of the joys of a real relationship.

Paige dropped back into the bed, letting out a long frustrated sigh at the effort she had spent.

She looked over at John for a moment and gave a cruel smile.

She pulled off her underwear that she had just put on and folded them meticulously, placing them gently on the floor beside her. Turning back to him, she climbed onto his lap again.

She leant forward and kissed him, not sweet and long, but with a very direct purpose.

"I thought you said it was too hot," he mumbled, not complaining.

Paige shrugged and went back to their kiss.

As always, John started to respond to her body with every intention of being gentle and slow, the way that he thought it should be for her. But, she didn't make it easy.

She pulled away from his kiss and sucked her lower lip into her mouth in a maliciously sexy gesture. John crushed his lips over hers again and began to slide against her.

She let out an obscene moan and John's little resolve went out the window. He pulled her roughly against him, shoving her body so that she was beneath him.

Her lust blown pupils were begging him for more, rough and hard and fast, just the way she liked it best.

John gave a sinful grin as he realized how compatible he and Paige really were.


	5. The Rope

**Hi kids. **

**This is an exact resubmission of a story that got caught in the wave of censorship about a week ago. In case you have lives, and aren't on everyday, every few months or so, the site removes stories rated MA, which is silly, because 1. some of those stories are the best out there and 2. they give really vague descriptions as to what's explicit and what isn't. Anyways, they apparently go though cycles. There are too many stories being posted for them to really police that thoroughly. So, shhhhhh, don't tell anyone that I resubmitted this. **

**WARNING. Contains sex between consenting adults. Do not read if this offends you. **

* * *

"Ok, now, watch me." John said.

Paige and John were in a motel room and John was tied to a chair with his hands behind his back.

"So, if someone is dumb enough to tie your hands together, instead of apart, you can slip the knot." He explained.

John's shoulder dipped slightly as he put his hands beneath the chair and began to slide the ropes off his wrists. After a few minutes, he had pulled himself free. The skin around his wrists was a little pink from being rubbed against the rough rope.

"You." John said simply, pointing to the chair that he had occupied.

Obediently, Paige sat down and held her wrists behind the chair.

Perhaps it was her imagination, but John seemed to linger as he tied the knots. He tested the strength, then walked around to Paige's front. He stood back with his hand on his chin as he watched her.

Paige began to mimic his movements. As she dipped her shoulders to slide her hands out, the strap of her bra fell loosely to her elbow. She ignored it and kept her eyes on the ground as she focused on her hands behind her. She got the ropes almost exactly where she needed them when her arm slipped. She tried to bite back the frustrated sound she made. She glanced up at John to see if he would rebuff her for being so obvious, but as she looked at him, she saw that his eyes were not focused on her face, but on her breasts, which heaved with every movement she made.

His eyes were dark with the narrow expression of a man who was singularly focused on sex. Almost as an experiment, Paige repeated the frustrated grunt, watching for his reaction.

John's eyes flicked up to her own. Paige broke into a teasing smile.

"Is this turning you on?" she asked.

John didn't reply, but took a step closer to her. From her position in the chair, Paige was eye level with the zipper of John's pants. John looked down at her, as if considering his many options of what to do with her.

"Don't you look at me like that," Paige said, coyly, "I'm trying to learn here."

John reached down and grabbed Paige by the base of her hair, jerking her head upward to face his own.

"What are you going to do to stop me?" he growled.

The space between Paige's legs tingled.

John knelt down to Paige's lap and lazily separated her legs. Without taking his eyes from her, he slid his fingers up her thigh and smiled when he felt the wetness dripping from her. He slid two fingers along her slit, under her clothes, and then slipped his fingers into his own mouth, giving a delicious moan at her taste.

Paige's lips were parted as he teased her, her eyes focused on his mouth.

As he lowered his face to between her thighs, Paige let out an audible sigh of anticipation. Smiling mischievously, John languidly turned his chin to her thigh, kissing the insides of her legs and deliberately avoiding the most desperate and needy part of her as she practically strained herself up to meet him.

He continued tormenting her, licking her thighs and sliding the stubble of his chin along her tender skin. Her breathing was ragged and erratic as he continued to lavish attention on every part of her legs besides her center.

Paige almost cried out in protest as he stood, pulling away from her need. He grabbed her by the hair again and twisted her lips to meet his.

Paige decided to do a little teasing of her own. She pressed her breasts up to meet his chest as it bent to her level and she quickly captured his lower lip as he kissed her, nibbling at it.

John lost a bit of his composure as he let out a needy groan. His hands found her breasts and he began to push the clothes off of her shoulders. Unable to take her clothes off completely, he shoved them aside to get access to her tempting flesh. He slid her bra and tank top around her shoulders so that her breasts were exposed but the rest of her shirt pooled around her waist.

Paige's breath caught as his hands firmly grasped her breasts. He pulled away from her lips and began to kiss her neck and shoulders. Paige moaned and went to move her hands to pull his head closer to her, but her hands were caught by her restraint.

The motion was not lost on John, and he smiled at her as he was reminded of his position of power.

He took a step back from her and sat on the motel bed, soaking in the view. Paige was looking at him with determination in her eyes, done with his teasing and tormenting. Paige stared at him for a second, then her own face broke into a scheming smile.

She held up her unrestrained wrists, free from the rope.

"That's my girl." John said.

Paige stood and covered the distance between them, pushing John back onto the bed as she reached him. She had time to make up for.

She straddled him, pushing him back to the bed again as he sat up to kiss her. As his hands rose to touch her, she caught his wrists and pinned them to the bed, her lips returning his attention in kind. He laid back and humored her, not trying to push himself out of her grip.

Paige crushed her mouth over his and slid his lip between her teeth, relishing in the knowledge that this was one thing that all but pushed him over the edge.

He growled and lifted his hips between her legs, grazing both of them together. Paige gasped and John took the opportunity to break her grip on his wrists. He held her face between his hands as he kissed her, nipping her lips between his teeth.

Paige wasn't giving up that easily, she pushed him back again, this time using real force. John was done humoring her. He forced himself from her grip, pushing Paige off himself and pinning her beneath him.

Paige pushed him again, as hard as she could. John fought back from her shove and tightly gripped her forearms. They struggled for a minute, John flipped her and bent her over the bed so that her face was in the mattress and her feet were on the ground. As he pressed himself against her, Paige felt that he was fully hard.

Their breathing was ragged. Paige stopped struggling against his hold, moaning as he slid her shorts and underwear from her, his fingers parting her hot, wet lips, his thumb circling her button.

John released a groan as he pushed himself easily into her, her arousal making a satisfying wet sound as she accepted him.

Paige was so hot already that John barely had time to give two full thrusts before she was all but crying out. John gave a twisted smile as he wrapped his hand in her hair, tugging it back just as he thrust forward forcefully. He grinned in satisfaction as that sent Paige flying up and over her peak.

She fisted the blankets as she rode out her high, and John started beating into her faster. Her natural lubrication making an obscene slap sound with each plunge he pushed into her.

Paige looked at him over her shoulder, with a desperate, needing expression, her half lidded eyes clouded with lust. John looked down between them, and the sight of her bent over, taking, needing, everything he had to give was enough to make him bite his shout of ecstasy in his throat as he found his release.

He stood for a moment, still inside her, before he pulled out and dropped onto the bed beside Paige. They lay in sweaty, satiated silence before John rolled over to her and tenderly pushed the sweaty clump of hair away from her face and behind her ear. Paige leaned into his touch, closing her eyes.

He wrapped a piece of her hair around his finger, the after effects of his climax making him content and lazy. He let out a low, rumbling chuckle.

"You're a little kinky." He said with an amused smile.

Paige returned the grin, and reached up to his mouth, pinching his lower lip between her fingers.

"What does that make you, then?" she asked.


	6. The Con

**Ok, this is one of my longest Directors cuts, and quite possibly, my last. I have a few stories going right now. Last Student is my top priority since it is my baby and the most extensive but Hells Hollow and Sister Hannah are also projects I like. This is getting published since I've had a draft of it sitting around for awhile. **

**School starts soon and I have to get ready for graduation! I won't have much time for you kids. But, writing is my release, so I will still publish. If you follow any of my other stories, be patient! I'm sorry! I'd rather be writing than serving coffee, but it doesn't pay the bills.**

**So, a few warnings, since I live in fear of being censored, again. Dirty talk, rough sex, general awesomeness. A little rough, dark and dirty, just the way that I know you like it best. Enjoy.**

* * *

"I don't see why I need to do this."

"Remember when you got into my truck that first night? Remember when we trained at Bobby's? After all that, _this_ is when you question me?"

Paige's eyes flashed as she remembered John and her, trapped at Bobby's fighting each other in order to get stronger. The memory of the pure sweat and dirt and violence of it all made Paige's toes curl. That, however, was beside the point.

"Yeah, but that was when you were teaching me to fight and be a better hunter. I don't see the point in this."

"Well," explained John, again, "When you hunt, you sometimes need cash. To get cash, you need to do some less than moral things. Like hustling pool."

"Yes. And why do I need to wear this to do that?"

Paige looked down at her outfit; skintight jeans and a tank top with some sort of space-age technology level push-up bra shoving her already generous bosom practically to her chin. Paige looked like a cheap bar broad and an easy lay. John, she thought, was having a little too much fun.

"You're going to be my shark." Said John, simply.

"Your what now?"

"Well, I'm going to be so drunk, and all the tipsy walking wallets will be so busy drooling over you that we can probably clear about five or six hundred tonight, at least."

"How about _I _hustle and _you _be a shark."

"Do you even know how to play?"

"No."

"Anyways," John continued, "All you're going to do, as my shark, is look like that, " John gestured to her outfit, "And maybe let some drunk guys buy you some drinks. Is that so terrible?"

"Yeah. You and I both know that they're going to want to do more than that."

"So you listen to their dumb jokes and pick up lines, smile and nod."

"I'm actually a little surprised you want me to do this."

John raised his eyebrows.

"You get jealous."

He rolled his eyes.

"I do not get jealous."

"Yeah you do."

"Ok, fine," said John, "Maybe a little. But this is just a character we have to play. Like an FBI agent."

"Fine." Said Paige, "You're right." She sighed in defeat.

* * *

"Hey big guy, what can I get for you?" asked the bartender as the man stumbled in.

He grinned widely.

"Give me a shot and a beer."

"Ok. A shot of what and what kind of beer?"

"Surprise me." Said the man with a lazy grin.

When the man got his drinks, he staggered over to a table. Sitting down, he took his shot, swallowing the bite with ease and cast his gaze around the bar as he started on his beer.

His eyes landed on a pool table where a few young men were milling around, watching a couple of players. He stood and joined the group in the back.

The audience made an appreciative sound as one player sunk a ball into the pocket.

"Nice shot," said the drunken man.

The young man, kid, more like, thanked him and then eyed the inebriated elder.

"Hey, buddy. Haven't seen you in here before."

"I'm a rolling stone." Chuckled the older man.

"You want to play a round? I've already played all these sorry sons of bitches before." He laughed as he looked around at his friends.

"Alright," said the older man, "But let me buy next round." He gestured to the bartender.

The group let out a cry of applause and approval as the bartender replaced their drinks.

"So," said the kid. "How about a dollar a pocket? I'll do solids and I'll break."

The man nodded, watching his opponent. The young man skillfully pocketed two balls. The older man smiled as he pulled out his thick money clip. Cheerfully handing two dollars to the younger.

The younger man's eyes greedily fell on the wad of cash still sticking out of the clip, he smiled slyly.

At that moment, a young woman entered the bar.

"How's it going?" asked the bartender when he saw her.

"Dandy" she said, stiffly. "I'm actually looking for…" but as the words came out of her mouth, the audience at the pool table gave a collective "oooooh" sound of appreciation. Her eyes landed on the drunken older man.

"Never mind, thanks, I found him." She said to the bartender over her shoulder as she made her way across the bar.

"Ok, I found you. Very clever. Now get in the car." She said to the drunken older man who instantly looked guilty when he saw her.

"Hey, is this your dad?" asked the kid, suddenly looking wary. The young woman and the old man both made disgusted faces.

"No, he's my uncle, by marriage not blood , thank God." She said, "And he's a drunk. I got a call about an hour ago from a bar within stumbling distance of this one. He's been making the rounds."

" 's a free country," slurred the older drunken man, "You don't boss me around."

The girl seemed to see the in the pool stick in his hand for the first time. She turned to the younger man.

"Ok, you've had your fun. Give him his money back." She said.

"What? No."

"He's drunk!" she snapped at him, "He doesn't know what he's doing."

"I do too." Growled the older man, "You're not my nanny. Just 'cause you have a stick up your ass doesn't mean the rest of us can't have any fun."

"Charming, as always."

"Bitch." The drunken older man grumbled.

The woman raised her eyebrows, then turned to the younger man.

"Fine. You beat his ass good. Clean him out for all I care." She turned back to her uncle, "Maybe someone will learn a lesson here."

She moved over to a table close by and sat, crossing her legs.

"What are you playing? A dollar a pocket?" she asked.

The young man nodded, looking apprehensive, as though she might yell at him again. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a twenty.

"Make it twenty a pocket so I can get him home before midnight." She gave a sneering look at the drunken older man. "Here. I'll cover your first. Is that OK, old man?"

He returned her sneer in kind and lined up his shot. He had a hard time keeping the cue straight on his hand. The girl sat next to the younger man and rolled her eyes.

"What's your name anyways?" she asked him, growing impatient as they all waited for the drunken man to hit.

"Kyle."

"Hey, Kyle. I'm Veronica. That's Paul. It looks like he'll be buying your drinks tonight."

Kyle smiled. For the first time he took a long look at Veronica in front of him. He seemed to like what he saw as he grinned wider and leaned in.

"Let me buy you a drink too." He said, muttering it in her ear as if they were in a loud club rather than a quiet country bar. Veronica didn't pull away.

"Only if you buy it with the money you earn from him."

Kyle nodded and then left to go to the bar. The older man finally made his shot, but sent the cue ball dangerously close to the pocket.

Kyle returned with a shot and a ruby red concoction with fruit in it. Veronica gave a wry smile as he handed her the shot.

"I think you money is safe." She said, nodding towards the table where Paul was staring daggers at the traitorous cue ball.

Kyle grinned and made another shot. That one missed the pocket as well. He turned back to Veronica and shrugged. She smiled as she started on the ruby red drink.

"So, what's his story?"

"The usual. Started drinking around the time his midlife crisis set in. He had a shitty job, so he started drinking on the job. They fired him. Three years later, his wife left him, he gets kicked out of his son's house. Bounces around a bit until he lives with me."

"You and your husband?"

Veronica looked at him for a long minute and smiled with her lips around the straw, biting the plastic between her teeth. Her tongue slipped between her lips, catching a bit of the sweet alcohol as it escaped. Kyle watched her lips.

"No." she said coyly.

Kyle gave a big grin. Behind them, Paul cleared his throat.

"Hey, bro. Could you not hit on my niece? She may be a frigid shrew, but she is my responsibility."

Veronica slipped her arm around Kyle's shoulders and looked at Paul pointedly.

"It's a free country."

Kyle grinned, but looked nervously between the two. The atmosphere in the bar had was suddenly full of electric charge. Paul gave a strained smile and turned back to the table.

As quick as a bullet, he sunk the ball in the pocket. He held his hand out to Kyle expectantly. The kid handed over the cash. It wasn't playful or fun anymore. The kid was starting to get nervous.

Veronica glanced at her uncle and then ran her hand along Kyle's arm.

"Don't worry about it, the old guy had to win at least once." Kyle patted her leg and smiled, though he still looked unsure.

The old guy won more than once. Every turn of his after that he sunk ball after ball. He was no longer jolly and drunk but he suddenly seemed stone cold sober.

And pissed.

Kyle was collecting money from his friends to pay Paul as he perfectly landed each shot. Finally, after $300, Kyle stood up.

"Ok, we're done here." He sounded irritated.

"What?" asked Veronica, "You're going home so soon?"

Kyle looked at her for a long minute, as if solving a puzzle.

"I think we got played." He pointed at Veronica, "I think you were in on it."

"Well, he's my uncle." She said, "But I've never seen him play before. I thought he was just drunk. He has a really shit habit of gambling way past his lucky streak and coming home broke. I figured that would happen again tonight."

Kyle looked like he really wanted to believe her.

"No." he said, "No. We got hustled. You're just his skank."

"Hey." Snapped Paul. He took a half a step forward.

"It's fine." Said Veronica. "Some men just can't lose with dignity. Same kind of men call women skanks because they can't seal the fucking deal with even the trashiest of whores."

Kyle grabbed her arm and pulled her from her seat.

"Look, skank, give us our fucking money back."

"Let her go." Snapped Paul, walking over to them. When Kyle didn't, Paul shoved the kid.

"Hey." Yelled the bartender from the bar. "Not cool, man. Take it outside or I call the cops."

Veronica grabbed Paul's hand and pulled him away from the younger man with a bit of difficulty at first.

"C'mon, uncle. Kid's not worth it."

* * *

After the initial excitement of the almost fight, many of the bar patrons began to filter out. Kyle and his friends left soon after the girl and her uncle, all angry and adrenaline fuelled, looking for another bar for the night.

A couple walked out of the bar. The woman, in her mid forties, turned to her husband, gossiping excitedly about the fight. She stopped in her tracks.

"Do you think that's their car?" she asked her husband.

Her husband was tired of talking about it, but let his wife chatter, knowing that the excitement from the night would last her a few weeks, at least. Her job as an administrator at the paper mill provided her with very little real excitement. At least this way she wasn't gossiping about their friends and family.

"Whose?" he asked, although he knew perfectly well who she meant.

"_Theirs_" she whispered, "The uncle and the niece. Look, it's from out of state."

"Maybe." He said with a shrug.

Suddenly, the car gave a small shift of weight. The husband realized, for the first time, that the windows were fogged up. He tried to swallow his grin as he remembered from his college days _exactly _what was happening in that truck.

"Oh. My. God." Mouthed his wife, her eyes wide with amused shock, "He's her _uncle._"

The husband grinned and shrugged.

"That shit isn't right." She said, but her righteous tone couldn't hide the excitement in her eyes. She was remembering it too. She had been in that car with him when they were both in college. She was remembering what it was like when they had needed to fuck so badly they would do it wherever they could, not caring if passerby knew exactly what they were doing.

The husband slid his arm around his wife tighter as they walked, with more speed, towards their car and then towards their bed, at home.

* * *

Paige stumbled a little as she and John left the angry kids at the bar. As soon as they got outside, they switched roles. John was the one leading her to the truck, his face still contorted with the pent up aggression.

He opened the passenger's side and pushed her in. She was a little surprised when he climbed in behind her.

He jerked her so that she was on her back before him. Paige grinned as she read his mood. She felt it against her leg, which he lifted as he pulled her high heel off, followed quickly by the other.

"I told you you'd get jealous."

"Shut up." He snarled. He slid the other shoe from her foot and, without tenderness, he all but ripped her pants and underwear from her in a clumsy, aggressive and possessive move.

"Take off your shirt." He said, "I need to fuck you. I need to see your tits bounce while I'm in you."

Paige gave a grin at John's newfound filthy mouth. She obliged him, pulling off her tank top quickly but slowly easing herself out of her bra. John growled impatiently, but Paige paid him no mind.

Finally naked under him, she bit her lip, still stained red from the sweet drink the kid had bought her. John didn't strip as fully as Paige did, but kicked off his pants and coat, moving what was necessary as he shoved into her.

Paige let out the familiar gasp that she always did when he penetrated her. He started to moved in her, sliding her legs up to his shoulders and exhaling with relief as he slid, all the way, into her.

"You're such a slut," he mumbled. This, however, didn't slow his pumping into her.

"Then you're my pimp." Paige whispered back, causing John to groan at her words, "You told me to let those men think I wanted to fuck them. You told me to let them touch me."

John's speed grew. He clenched her thighs against him as they moved together.

"I told you to let them flirt with you, not the other way around. I never told you to tease them. I never told you to lick that straw like you were licking that kid's cock. Running your tongue over your lips like a cheap whore on the street. It that what you would have done to that kid? Sucked him on your knees in alley?"

"Only if you asked me to." Whispered Paige, "I would do anything you asked me to. I'm yours."

That was enough to send John over. He held her thighs around him, lifting her a few inches off the car seat at he milked himself against her. He slid his fingers into as he pulled his sated dick out. He leaned over her again, looking into her face. Her eyes were clouded and desperate, she was so close to finishing. John grinned as he grabbed a fistful of her hair.

"Fucking whore." He muttered, almost tenderly, as he crushed her sensitive button and pulled her hair simultaneously. She had been biting her lip to keep quiet as he fingered her, but as she came, John caught her involuntary moan in his lips. He felt her walls contract against his hand as she rode out her high, then slid out of her.

"That was fun." Said Paige after a few moments of silence, "We should definitely do that again."


	7. The Statue

**OK, I lied. I can't stop writing these. They're like crack. So, this makes a lot more sense if you've read the "Last Student" up to "The Hunting Age III." If not, well, good luck anyways.**

* * *

John sighed in contentment as he felt soft, small hands gently kneed his chest. Still half asleep, the warmth of a happy dream was still hanging around him like a sweet haze. A warm breath on his stomach and his body reacted in an almost innocent fashion of nature as he felt himself, already a little firm from his dream, fill even harder from the delicate stimulation. A warm breath on his sensitive member pulled him even further from his dream state. He gave a small moan at its loss.

Now that he had given himself away as being awake, the skimming fingers and breath became strokes and kisses. He peeked out through his eye lashes and saw Paige, naked before him, on all fours over his body, her eyes hungrily watching his chest rise and fall. Suddenly, he didn't miss the dream of minutes ago at all. It paled in comparison to the sight before him.

Seeing his eyes move beneath his lids, Paige crawled forward to his head, her low and heavy breasts grazing his chest. He sighed and captured their weight in his hands, tracing the sensitive outer ring over her nipple with his thumb as she pressed her lips against him. After a few seconds, she pulled back and straightened her spine so that she was upright, settling her weight on his lap as he laid.

He glanced at the clock and saw that it was in the early morning, around three and reached up to Paige's stomach sliding his hand up to her chest, pausing, nestled between her breasts as she started to grind a slow rhythm on him. Below her his, now hard, dick gave a gentle throb at the promise of tight warmth above it.

"I've seen you, before." Said Paige, softly, into the dark.

"Is that so?"

"Yes, back when I was young—"

"You _are _young." He said with a grin. She ignored him.

"I saw your picture in a book. You were made of marble, then." Paige began running her hands over her chest as she spoke, " You were made of cold, unyielding stone but so much strength and beauty behind it. There were others like you. Smaller. Made of wood and clay. They were beautiful, but oh, how they crumbled once the world got their hands on them."

John smiled in the dark as she spoke. A warmth building in his chest as her words found him, placing themselves deeply in his skin.

"You held a trident, and you stood in front of your temple and you guarded the sea, the only thing as resilient and eternal as you were. They feared you for it. They loved you for it. They worshiped you."

Paige leaned forward and followed the trails of her fingertips with her lips. Almost reverently, she lavished attention in his body. Kissing and tugging and stroking. She latched onto his stomach, right above his belly button with such pressure that he knew would leave a big purple love bite in the morning. He moaned beneath her, but she silenced him with a kiss that swallowed the sound.

Paige ran her fingers through the trail of hair on his stomach, heading further and further south until John practically bucked into her hand.

She wasted no time in sliding down to its level and spending sometime worshiping that as well. She placed feather light kisses along the shaft and scrotum. Licking her way up and down without ever taking it fully into her mouth.

John bit his lip to keep from moaning again. From just saying, "get on with it," or even rolling her so that he could take charge and find his release. He loved fucking her into the mattress. Rough and hard and sinfully. And, unless he was very _very _much mistaken, Paige seemed to love being fucked in the same fashion. But tonight was different.

Tonight, Paige was taking charge. Paige was calling the shots and exploring his body at a criminally slow pace. And she was saying… things… that weren't exactly dirty talk. She was trying to tell him something in the way that they seemed to communicate best; through kisses and touches and sex.

John arched his back as she slid him into her. She was still for a moment before she started to rock against him, her head rolling as she lost herself to him. Her eyes fell back on his body and she stilled herself for a moment as she leaned down and kissed him again.

"You say such pretty things." He murmured as she straightened up again.

"You don't need to sound surprised." She said, smiling. She resumed her slow, rocking pace. His fingers found and entwined with hers as she moved on him.

"Everything you say seems to surprise me." He said, returning her smile with his own grin. "Though, I don't know why it should. A pretty girl who says pretty things. Makes sense to me."

Paige hesitated, biting her lip. He never said things like that to her before. Had never lavished her with compliments the way that younger men lavished attention all over girls they dated. John had never needed to. For whatever reason, Paige seemed to find him sexy without him actually having to try.

He had never told her she was beautiful. How was that possible? John sat up, still inside her, and slid his hands up the slope from hips to waist to breasts, his hands finding sanctuary as they cupped her cheeks. He kissed her, working her tense lips soft again as he apologized silently for neglecting her like that. Finally, she relaxed again and resumed her pace while John was still sitting, holding her on his lap. She locked her hand behind his head for balance as she worked him, neither eager to lose the intimacy of the new position.

"You're so beautiful," he moaned into her neck, "You know that, right? You're so beautiful."

He couldn't see her face, since it was nestled into his shoulder, but her felt her go rigid again.

"John, don't." she said so softly that he almost didn't hear it.

"Why not? You're sexy and smart and so beauti—"

"I'm serious, John, stop."

John's heart broke a little at the raw note in her voice, just on the verge of tears. Paige needed it more than anyone else, he realized. He hated himself for not taking better care of her.

She wasn't just a fuck. She wasn't a piece of ass. John had had a piece of ass before, many times before. Crappy motel room might have been the same setting, but Paige just couldn't have been more different if she tried. Pieces of ass didn't make him laugh. Pieces of ass didn't recite poetry or whatever those words were that gave him shivers. She wasn't his wife, but she wasn't _that_.

But that was exactly how he had been treating her. A few kisses and sloppy gropes before he ripped off her underthings and fucked her. He had never been tender and Paige, in this moment, needed tender. She deserved it.

"What?" he whispered, "Beautiful? Perfect? Amazing? You are, Paige. I don't have pretty words stocked away like you, but I know beautiful when I see—"

Paige scrambled out of his arms and pushed away, sliding off of him. John watched with raised eyebrows as she stood, looking away from him. He waited for her to do something, and she seemed to be waiting for the same thing, standing indecisively. Finally she all but jogged to the bathroom and closed the door. John heard the running water of the shower, though that didn't muffle out the sounds of dry, heaving sobs.

John sat on the bed where she left him, naked and as he always seemed to be where she was concerned; completely unsure of what to do.

* * *

Paige stood under the shower for a few moments as the water ran over her skin, trying to snap her back to reality. Back to the present. Trying to shove that memory back into the box that she kept stowed away in the back of her mind, where it belonged.

"_You're so beautiful, you know that?"_ Spencer had slobbered into her ear as he groped her. His hot breath made her skin crawl. His boner poking into her stomach like an annoying little gnat. Saying no just made him harder, just made him more persistent. Asking him to stop just made him smile.

"_Beautiful._" He had sloppily said into her hair.

It wasn't the same. It wasn't. She wanted this, with John. She had always wanted it. He was trying. John was trying so hard and all she heard was Spencer. John was touching her so sweetly and all she felt were Spencer's grubby and greedy hands. It wasn't the same. It wasn't. It _wasn't_.

Paige clapped a hand over her mouth, as if hoping to stop the sob before it escaped her lips. Why was she so fucked up like this? It wasn't John's fault. It wasn't John's fault that she couldn't hear that word without wanting to vomit. She couldn't hear that word without remembering him raping her. _Raping. _It was still a word that sounded harsh and foreign and violent to her, but that was what he did.

She turned off the water and dried herself off. She hadn't thought to bring any clothes into the bathroom with her, seeing as she was having some sort of post-traumatic-stress reaction. Paige walked out of the bathroom wearing a towel, grabbing the first clothes she found on the floor of the room as she reentered it, putting them on, not caring if they were inside out or backwards. John's shadowed outline was lying down, though Paige doubted he was really asleep.

As she climbed back into the bed, a car's passing headlights lit up the room and she saw his eyes open and watching her. She laid down, with her back to him, unsure of how to even tell him. How to assure him that it was her who was fucked up, not him. Unsure of how to tell him that he was sweet and sexy and perfect and she was just damaged. She had never told anyone what happened in that room. She had never told anyone how she wanted him to stop. How she had cried and he had gotten off on it. "_You're so beautiful," _Spencer had told her, over and over as he stroked her face. "_You're so beautiful like this. I couldn't help myself." _His touches had made her sick and mad and helpless at once. She hated him so much, but she hated herself more.

Between her and John Winchester, who'd have guessed that she was the one who was broken beyond repair?

Spencer's voice was ringing in her ears as John reached out and laid a cautious hand on her back. Hesitantly bringing himself closer to kiss between her shoulder blades. She tensed beneath his lips and he quickly withdrew his hand.

Paige started a fresh wave of tears. He was trying so hard to give her something that she had thought she wanted. Softness. Affection. But she couldn't take it. She could only hear Spencer's words. Only feel Spencer's touch. Why couldn't he leave her alone? Hadn't he already done enough?

John didn't know how to ask what was wrong. They had been so close to something new and big and damn near divine in its intimacy. Now they were a million miles apart.

John didn't know how to ask. Paige didn't know how to tell him. So he rolled over to his side of the bed and watched for a few more seconds, then turned so that his back was to her. They lay like that, a canyon of empty space between them in their bed. Paige crying into her pillow and John pretending he couldn't hear her.

The next morning, both pretended that nothing had happened.


	8. The Pillow

John would never grow tired of all the sounds that Paige made as he went down on her.

She wasn't exactly a screamer. Visceral in a way that she never was in public, in their bed, Paige would sigh and gasp and moan so softly that if he wasn't paying attention, he might not hear it. It was like her pleasure was a secret that only he would ever know. A tiny gasp of, almost surprise, whenever he would penetrate her. A sigh of relief whenever he nestled his tongue against her hard little clit, as if she had been waiting all day for him to find her there.

Paige was lying on her back, recovering from the orgasm they had both shared as they fucked on the bed. The sheets were still mussed from where they had moved together on top of them and Paige's eyes were still sleepy and cloudy with the after effects of her high, but John refused to let himself fall asleep in her arms again. He was going to make her come one more time while he waited for his body catch up to where his head was.

A little exhale, caught in chaotic strands of dark hair as it left her lips, told John that she was starting her climb to something beautiful. He slid his fingers into her, still wet from a few minutes earlier and growing wet again as he parted her lips and explored her folds, another secret for his eyes and fingers only.

"John, what are you doing to me?" she murmured, but the drowsy smile and the way her hips were starting to meet the rhythm of his fingers seemed to imply that she didn't mind all that much. At the sound of his name, his cock started to fill with blood again.

He pressed one last firm tongue to her button and then pulled away, smiling up at her. She reached down, between her legs, and echoed his face with her fingers. He followed them up her body to her mouth, a little swollen from where he had sucked and nibbled her lips earlier in the night. She leaned up and kissed her own juices from his chin and glistening lips.

As she felt his erection graze against her stomach, she smiled and ran her fingertips across its head and shaft. Her hands wrapped around his neck and shoulders as his lips started on her throat and collarbone. She spread her legs familiarly, as if, like magnets, they would always come together naturally.

John took her wrists and held them above her head, placing a bit of pressure against them, wordlessly telling her that they were to stay there. She bit her lips as she understood his meaning, eyes wide and excited by the new turn of events.

"Do you trust me?" he asked her, softly.

"I probably shouldn't," she said, though her tone wasn't accusatory.

John's eyes flicked over hers as he thought about it. No. She probably shouldn't trust him. They had only known each other for a couple of weeks. They had only been having sex for a couple of days. He had guns and secrets and a whole life separate from hers. She shouldn't trust him at all. But her legs spread to his weight so easily. Her fingers found his in the night as she slept.

"That doesn't mean that you don't."

Paige rolled her eyes but nodded. The hands he had held above her head by the wrists clasped together, stretching herself open to him. John watched her questioningly and his hands started to trail downwards. He skimmed a thumb over her clit and her hips bucked up to his touch, but her hands obediently remained where he left them.

His mouth started heading south, licking up patches of her skin.

John's mouth latched onto her clit and he swirled his tongue twice before sucking the hard and sensitive little nub. Paige almost lost her mind, her breath coming out in measured bursts as she tried to remain composed. After flashing her another smile, John ran his hand lower, taking her wetness and moving it further until his finger traced the tighter, foreign hole of her body.

Her frame locked and she let out a sound of surprise and protest. He looked over her glorious and naked form and gently kissed the inside of her thigh as an apology for his abruptness. But his finger stayed where it was. Paige's eyes were wide with apprehension and shock, her leg twisted reflexively to the trespass of his fingers, but she didn't tell him no and her hands stayed above her head, where he left them.

"Do you trust me?" he asked again, his other hand stroking the outside of her thigh. The words were heavier now, and Paige bit her lip. "Do you trust that I would never hurt you?" he asked, leaning up and placing a kiss against her stomach. "Do you trust that I would stop if you asked me to?" A kiss against her thigh, "Do you trust that I would never do anything you said you didn't want?" A final kiss against her hipbone. Paige still looked hesitant, so John started eating her out again as he gave her time to think it over. She was silent for so long that John started to think that she was going to say 'no.' He slipped his fingers into her familiar wetness, working her with earnest determination to recover the moment, to get them back to content and well fucked and away from the awkward pause.

Her legs started to move and John thought she might be so upset with his question that she wanted him to leave her alone altogether. He cast a cautious look up to her face and she still looked nervous and shy, but also determined. Then he registered that she was scooting hips down, moving her knees towards her head; giving him better access to the tight hole.

He leaned up over her body and kissed her mouth, sucking her tongue and moving his lips with all the grateful passion he could muster into the gesture.

"Jesus, Paige, are you sure?" he murmured. He placed one of the fingers that had been in her first hole against her second, using the provided lubrication to ease the finger's passage. She gave a nervous giggle at his surprised reaction and nodded, worrying her lip and watching him warily. He kissed her again, trying to soothe her. "It can feel good," he promised.

"Prove it," Paige challenged softly before breaking into a sinful smile.

She let out a moan of discomfort as the finger that had been tracing her tinier entrance slid in and even John was surprised at the tightness. But then, the impossibility of the task before him made his dick swell ambitiously. He leaned up and resumed kissing her as he pressed his middle finger into the stretching hole to join the first. She let out a hum of pain and John pulled away from their kiss to watch her. He knew that some discomfort was to be expected, but the last thing he wanted to do was actually hurt her.

"Does it hurt?" he asked. Paige violently shook her head, 'no' and opened her mouth silently as she searched for the words. John crinkled his brow and started moving the two digits again, and this time, with Paige's face in view, he watched her wince with pain but also roll her eyes back with pleasure. Pain and pleasure was a potent combination when it came to him and Paige. "Talk to me, Paige." He said. He stilled his moving fingers and her groan of protest was louder than her moan of pain form earlier.

"It's not just, ah, pain it's… it's not bad."

"Not bad?" said John with a wicked grin, "You can do better than that," he goaded.

"It's good. I like it, I think."

"Try harder."

"I like it when you stretch my ass with your fingers so you can fuck me with your cock." Paige said, then she raised her eyebrows as if to say, 'happy now?' John moaned his appreciation of her filthy words. The big eyes gave her the general appearance of innocence, but her way with the English language remedied that easily.

John felt comfort in the return to their routine sex personas. Hard and dirty. Perhaps it was a simply mask that they could hide behind. Asking permission, being cautious was soft and sweet and vulnerable. There was a possibility that one could say 'no,' and the other could be hurt or embarrassed and when things got like that it was like juggling fire or chainsaws, one wrong move and everything could go wrong in an instant. This probably wasn't the healthiest sexual relationship that John could ever have, but there was relief in their dirty sex roles.

John hadn't had _repeated_ sex after Mary since Adam's mother, and even then it was rare, more routine and obligation than passion. John would take his son out to a game and after the boy went to sleep or, when he was older, off with his friends, he and Kate would have wine and end up in her bed.

When he met his youngest he marveled at the fact that he _could _have a child after Mary. Adam was his alright, infamous Winchester eyes, lady killer dimples and stubborn streak to boot. John was still a man and that came with everything else biologically inclined. His little swimmers were still doing their natural thing even when he thought that the rest of him had burned up with his wife.

But if Kate's complete lack of male companionship and made for TV movies were any sort of indicator, being a single mother wasn't easy. Late nights and double shifts at the hospital barely kept a roof over their heads and food on their table. If she wasn't working, she was being a mother in the laundry, cooking and housekeeping way that was neither fair nor fun. So John would lay her down in her bed and try to make up for 364 nights of loneliness. But 364 nights of an empty bed was a small price to pay for only having John in their life for one and though she never said so, Kate clearly seemed to agree. Adam didn't understand, but Kate knew what John really did. She had seen glimpses of who John really was, twisted and cold, and like any rational woman she didn't want him _anywhere_ near her child. But, she would take his company one night a year, like clockwork.

He tried to be a responsible deadbeat Dad. Sending money when he could, which wasn't nearly often enough, and remembering to call and mail cards on important occasions. To her credit, Kate didn't hold it against him. To his credit, he had really lucked out in accidentally impregnating a level headed, responsible woman who had more than enough love to give their child all by herself. He was easily lifted from their small family unit and no one cried after he left, but he cared. The fact that he was there showed he cared.

It wasn't easy talking to a stranger who called him 'Dad.' It wasn't easy making love to a woman who was lonely in the dark because him and a faulty condom. But he was unsure and uncomfortable and _there._

He liked his mask. Almost a character he could adopt and talk to Paige like she was some slut instead of his only real little protégé. Like she was just a random lay instead of the first monogamous relationship he'd had since Mary had died. It wasn't just hot, it was safer.

He cared about Paige. That didn't mean he wanted to talk about it.

"God, you have the best filthy little whore mouth, you know that?" he asked her as his fingers found an effective scissoring rhythm.

"You have your fingers in my ass and you want to talk about my mouth?" she asked, licking her tongue over said whore mouth. Even as he fucked her on his fingers, even as she shifted her body in response to the jolts of pain and surprising pleasure, her hands stayed above her head where he had wordlessly bound them with his will. Her body was obediently his, as always, but her eyes shone with challenge. If that wasn't the most erotic thing about Paige, John didn't know what was.

He punished her smart mouth by ruthlessly shoving a third finger into her hole and she arched her back at the sensation. Her fingers clawed at the sheets above her head, her breathing grew labored and her hips started to match his fingers as they moved.

"Fuck," John sighed, "Fuck, you're so hot. You're such a slut for me."

"Cock," demanded Paige, "I need your cock _now_."

John didn't wait to be asked twice. She barely managed to bite back the howl of surprise and pleasure as John plunged himself into her dripping wet pussy. He fought every instinct that told him to keep pounding into her and pulled out, winning a garbled sound from the pillow that was a mixture of protest and plea for mercy as she realized the logic of it. He pulled his fingers from her ass and lined up his dick, wet and shiny from Paige's lips, to her newly accommodating entrance.

"Do you trust me?" John asked as he placed the head of his truly throbbing cock against her. He hated how vulnerable the words sounded as he looked down at the closest thing he'd had to a girlfriend since before he started hunting. She slept in his arms and she made his coffee the way he liked it and she read his journals and knew his friends and had seen him in all his cruel temperamental glory and still reached for his hand in the night. It was safer to talk to her like a slut instead of voice his doubts. It was easier to call her his whore than to admit that she was probably something more than that. He couldn't do this to her if she didn't want it.

"Yes, God, yes. John, just… yes…"

John's dick refused to wait for her to finish that statement as it forced its way into her. It was so tight that John wondered if he should have spent more time prepping her body for him. His doubt was short lived as the legs that had been wrapped around his waist started pulling him closer. Her eyes were clenched shut, her mouth open and asking without words for more. John continued pushing in as far as he could go, which ended up being farther than he had ever thought possible when he first slipped a finger into her. He stilled as he waited for her body to acclimate, but it wasn't easy. It would take all of John's willpower to not come after three thrusts, the tightness and mere taboo image of Paige, with his dick in her ass being more raw and pornographic than any website or magazine could dream of offering.

"John, I swear to all that is holy, if you do not start to move now, I will kill you."

He rocked his hips gently and she rode it like a champ, so John repeated the movement a little quicker. She opened her eyes and they were clouded with frustrated lust. Thank every star that aligned, his girl wasn't made of glass. John finally let his body do what it had been screaming for and his hips started snapping against hers in a violent rhythm, fast and hard. Each thrust brought another inch of his cock into her body until he felt his balls press against her.

"John…" Paige begged, her wrists still invisibly bound above her, "John, touch me. Touch me, I'm so close to coming."

All his years of experience and his private lessons on everything in her body that made Paige hot as the sun were rendered unnecessary as a simple, firm brush over her clit had Paige turning her head and biting the pillow to keep from screaming her orgasm. John had known he wouldn't last long and he surrendered to the sight of sweaty dark hair, violently tossed over pink lips and cheeks that glowed with carnal bliss.

"Oh, fuck," he murmured as he slid out of her and rolled to the side. His bones were jelly and all he could manage to do was listen to Paige's breathing beside him and wait for the white spots in his eyes to fade. "Oh, fuck." He said again since his native tongue seemed to be failing in his search for any other phrase to describe _that_.

When feeling returned to his limbs, John rolled over and looked at Paige, exhausted and satisfied, beside him. He ran a hand along the face that had become so familiar in such a short amount of time.

"How're you feeling?" he asked her. She gave a light laugh.

"Like I just got fucked up the ass." She opened one eye and looked at him.

"You're…" words were never his strong suit and this really had him drowning, "I've never done that before." That got her full attention. She snapped her eyes onto him at his revelation.

"How is that possible?" she asked, "You're so…"

"Old?" John supplied.

"I was going to say 'experienced' but if you want to say 'old' don't let me stop you."

"I just never had the opportunity to do it with anyone else," he said, fingering the pillowcase above her head. He hadn't meant it to sound like it did, but his brain started flashing red alerts as Paige's eyes turned stony.

"Well," she said in a hard voice, "At the very least, I'll have a special memory as the only notch on your bedpost that let you put it in her ass."

"Paige… Paige I."

"It's fine, John. I get it. You don't have to explain yourself to me." She placed a hand against his arm and gave him a weak smile that didn't travel to her eyes, which had gone from stony to sadly insecure in a heartbeat. Obviously, she didn't get it.

"I never asked anyone else." Said John, pleading for the meaning of that to come through. "It's not the kind of thing you spring on strangers. And…you're not a stranger."

The mask was falling down and John was doing a terrible job of explaining it, but Paige seemed to understand as she slid her arms around his waist and pressed her lips, her forgiving and accepting lips, into his neck.

John was an expert in getting women naked. He had a PhD in making them come quickly, earned from so many drunken, sloppy, hasty, shameful nights that it would make Hugh Hefner's head spin. It had long been unspokenly established that Paige was the almost virgin and John was the experienced sex authority. Just as John was the expert in fighting and hunting and conning and lying, John was the expert in bed as well. He had hidden behind that authority. If Paige didn't question him, he didn't question himself and Paige was always an obedient little student.

But _asking_. But being unsure was something that John hadn't done with any woman, not even Kate, since Mary. John was just as new at this as Paige was, and that was terrifying.

There wasn't anything to say, so John simply held Paige against him and she clutched him to her, both more naked to each other than they had been all night.

* * *

**This is what happens when you read too much slash fiction; anal sex barley even phases you anymore. I swear, in like ten years, there is going to be a sex study where slash fangirls have completely normalized anal. You know what's awesome? Reviews. **


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